


when you unfold me

by bisexualcyborg



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anne is Bad at Feelings, Atmospheric Porn, Bathing/Washing, Body Hair, Body Worship, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Face-Sitting, Gratuitous Sea Metaphors, Hair-pulling, Lesbian Sex, Loud Sex, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rimming, Summer, The author is really gay, Vaginal Fingering, Women are super hot y'all, cock worship is a tag that exists why doesn't cunt worship exist too, cunt worship, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 14:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17851241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualcyborg/pseuds/bisexualcyborg
Summary: Anne and Max have sweet, sensual, passionate morning sex on a hot summer day in Nassau.Basically just me working through my Incredibly Intense Gay Feelings about four scenes from the show:- Anne watching Max wash up;- Max going down on Anne for the first time;- Max being delightfully loud when she's having sex with Georgia;- Anne swimming to board an enemy ship and fighting in wet clothes.





	when you unfold me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [my own super hot super awesome girlfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeJ/pseuds/KeJ) for the quick and enthusiastic beta!
> 
> Title from [Fire on Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwMHXgusVzk) by Sam Smith.

Anne’s back is warm. The sunlight falls through the window behind her, heating up her shoulders, the skin between her shoulderblades. A strand of hair, slightly damp with sweat, tickles her collarbone. She blinks, lazily, her eyelashes like shutters against the bright square of light on the wall in front of her. The sun must have been up for a while.

She rolls onto her back, kicks off the bedsheet tangled around her feet. She stretches, arms over her head, exposing more of her body to the languid sunlight and to the gentle breeze circulating between the two open windows. There’s an itchy spot on her stomach, above her right hip. She scratches at it unselfconsciously, digging her short, blunt nails into her skin. Stretching her right leg, she reaches out with her foot, feeling for Max, but her toes encounter only bedsheets. She turns her head to the side, and sure enough, the bed is empty. Max has always been an early riser. 

Anne tilts her head up and sweeps her gaze across the room, looking for Max. When she finds her, the sun on Anne’s skin suddenly seems just a bit warmer. Max is so beautiful; so soft, so graceful, somehow both belying and showcasing the sharpness of her mind, the iron of her will. She is standing in front of the mirror, humming to herself, a pail of water on the table next to her. She is holding a wet cloth that she runs across her forehead, her cheekbones, her chin. Gathering her thick hair over one shoulder, she squeezes the cloth against the nape of her neck, letting water dribble down her back. Anne follows its path down Max’s body, mesmerised by a droplet that dips into one of the dimples above Max’s hips. Another rivulet runs straight down Max’s spine, between the dimples, over her tailbone, and disappears between the cheeks of her absolutely sumptuous arse. Anne licks her lips. Fuck, but does she want to follow the path of that drop with her tongue.

Max dips the cloth back into the water, wrings it out, and brings it to her throat. In the mirror, Anne can see her dabbing water across her collarbones, her chest. Lifting her arms, Max washes her armpits, water clinging to the dark, wiry hair there. She cups her left breast in one hand, pushing it up to wipe away the sweat that has gathered under it, then repeats the movement with her right breast. Anne imagines the weight of Max’s breasts in her hands, the silky skin against her fingertips, the salty-sweet taste when she licks at the sensitive crease under Max’s breast, the hitch in Max’s breath. A jolt of arousal swoops in Anne’s lower stomach and her hand on her hip strays down, fingers resting in the crease of her thigh. 

With broad back-and-forth motions, Max rubs the cloth down her stomach. She shifts her left foot to widen her stance and bends at the knees just the slightest bit, hunching forward to push the cloth between her thighs. The end of the fabric hangs awkwardly between her legs, twitching with the movements of her hand. She wipes her inner thighs, then rinses the cloth again, before reaching back to nudge the cloth between her arsecheeks. She’s just as thorough there, taking her time. Anne just watches. She keeps her breathing even so as not to clue Max in to the fact that she’s awake, unwilling to disturb this quiet moment of unselfconsciousness, the intimacy of watching Max be so completely human, so completely herself. 

When Max is done washing up, she drops the cloth back into the pail and picks up a small glass bottle that stands next to it. She unstoppers it, and a warm, spicy smell fills the room. It’s the oil she uses for her hair – Anne loves it, because it’s inextricably tangled in Max’s own scent, lingers on her neck, shoulders, breasts, everywhere Max’s hair brushes against her body. Max pours a few drops of the oil into her palm, sets the bottle back down, and rubs her hands together so both of them are oiled up. She gathers her hair over her left shoulder with a movement that never fails to remind Anne of the sirens from the stories her crewmates like so much. Max combs her fingers through her hair, gathers it gently in the palm of her hands, spreading the oil over her curls, starting from the ends and working her way up. She’s still humming softly, and the sound of her voice, the sight of her beauty, the scent of the oil, the sun, warm on Anne’s skin – everything conspires to make Anne feel mellow and languorous. She hums contentedly, a quiet, pleased sound, but Max – of course – still hears her. She turns around, tossing her hair back over her shoulder, and gives Anne a brilliant smile.

“You’re awake,” she says, her voice a half-whisper. 

Anne props herself up on her elbows. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” she says, just as low. There’s heat in her chest, on her cheeks, in her voice. 

“So are you,” Max answers, her gaze trailing over Anne’s form. She must be a sight – ginger hair tangled from sleep, skin slightly shiny with sweat, an angry red scar on her ribs from a recent swordfight. But Max’s eyes are hungry, smouldering with desire. 

Anne waits. She tends to let Max make the first move, most of the time, to be sure Max isn’t doing anything she doesn’t really want to do. She looks Max right in the eyes and spreads her legs wider, just a bit, bending her knee to the side. 

Max is still standing a few feet away from the bed, but she isn’t shy. She stares down, right at Anne’s cunt. 

“I want you,” she says, and runs her hand up her side, brings her fingers to her nipple, flicks it firmly. 

Those words, that sight – Anne feels her cunt clench, knows she’s starting to get wet.

“Come sit on my face,” she tells Max. Her voice is rough with sleep and desire. 

Max chuckles fondly. “Seems I’m not the only one to be eager.”

She kneels onto the bed and crawls up to Anne, straddling Anne’s left leg, her long hair trailing across Anne’s body. Her face is even more breathtakingly beautiful up close. Anne brings her hands up, almost reverently, fingers ghosting over the curve of Max’s waist. 

“Kiss me,” Max demands, and Anne grabs the back of her head, pulls her down with a desperate little noise. Max’s lips are soft and insistent against hers, and when Anne slips her tongue in Max’s mouth, Max’s hips stutter under Anne’s other hand. She nips at Anne’s lower lip and Anne pushes up against Max’s thigh between her own. She’s so fucking aroused just from watching Max and a bit of kissing, aroused in a way she’s never known before Max. She wants to make Max feel good, to touch her, to taste her, to make her moan and writhe and come. She cups the side of Max’s head and fists her hand into her hair and _tugs_ , and Max moans, loud and luxurious, the kind of sound that makes Anne dripping wet every time she hears it, no matter how often. 

“Fuck,” she mutters against Max’s lips, “fuck, come on, come up here. I want my tongue inside you.”

Max moans again, deepening their kiss, and then she pulls away and crawls higher up Anne’s body, kneeling upright, hovering over Anne’s face. Even her cunt is pretty – dusky, framed with dark, wiry hair where beads of moisture cling, from her wash or because she’s already that wet, Anne doesn’t know. 

Anne stretches her neck to lift her head and licks at Max’s cunt, a long, broad, insistent stripe. Max gasps and lowers herself, pushing Anne’s head back into the pillow. Anne helps her along by grabbing her hips, pulling her down against her mouth. She tastes faintly salty, the remnants of sweat the wet cloth couldn’t wash away, and the tangy flavour of her cunt grows stronger as she gets wetter with every pass of Anne’s tongue. 

Anne licks along the lips of Max’s cunt, sucks one gently into her mouth, and Max’s happy sigh turns into a gasp. 

“God,” Max moans as Anne pushes her tongue inside her, “God, my love, you feel so good.”

Anne curls her tongue inside Max, flicks it into the velvet of her cunt. She knows, by now, the places that make Max shout out with pleasure, the pressure that makes wetness trickle down Anne’s tongue. 

“I can’t believe,” Max starts, and she gasps when Anne pushes her tongue deeper inside her. “ _Ah!_ I can’t believe I get to fuck you.”

Anne snorts and pulls away from Max for a moment. “I’m not the one who looks like some kind of fucking goddess.”

Max looks down at her. “Oh, love.” Her gaze is so heated that Anne immediately buries her face in Max’s cunt again to avoid having to deal with the feelings that look evokes in her. Her hands go to Max’s arse, cupping it, squeezing it, pulling Max down onto her tongue, into her mouth. 

“You have no idea,” Max continues. “The way you look with a sword in your hand, at the prow of a ship.”

Cheeks heating up and heart swooping in her chest, Anne moves up a bit to suck Max’s clit into her mouth, wiry hair tickling her tongue and getting stuck in her teeth. Max shouts, a staccato _“Ah – Ah! – Ah!”_ but manages to find her words again.

“How handsome you are when you’re determined, how beautiful – oh, God, _Anne_ \- how beautifully you move, so lean and tough and agile.”

Anne sucks harder, lips closed tight around Max’s clit and tongue pressing at it rhythmically. She doesn’t quite know whether she’s doing it to make Max stop talking or to make her feel good, so good, as flushed and loved as Anne is feeling. Her nails dig into Max’s arse, thumbs stroking over the swell of it.

“How you look at me under the brim of your hat when you want me – oh, mon _Dieu!_ – your eyes are so intense, Anne, you make me so wet.”

Max’s words are getting increasingly staggered, her voice high-pitched and breathy. She’s grinding down harder and faster against Anne’s face, making it hard for Anne to breathe through her nose. So she breathes through her mouth instead, quick gulps of air that taste like Max, that make Anne’s head spin with the headiness of it. 

“How your clothes cling to your body when you’ve been swimming, and your hair when it’s wet, I want to – ah!”

She stops there, clearly unable to form words any longer. Her loud, lavish moans echo in Anne’s ears like waves in a storm, and Anne answers in kind, moaning into Max’s cunt, her own cunt so slick that she feels a trickle of wetness slide along her arse. Max’s thighs tighten around Anne’s head and Anne pulls her closer against her, tongue pressing hard into Max’s clit with small back-and-forth movements, and then Max is coming, back arching, shouting wordlessly. 

Anne keeps licking her through it, insatiable, stopping only when Max pulls away with an overstimulated hiss. Max climbs off of her and leans over, pulling Anne into a heated kiss.

“Mm,” she hums, suckling at Anne’s lips. “I love tasting myself on you.”

She doesn’t give Anne time to reply, quickly sliding down between her thighs instead, and grins up at Anne.

“Your turn now,” she says. “I want to taste you.”

Anne, tongue-tied with desire, spreads her legs with an encouraging moan. 

Max dives in, going straight for Anne’s clit. Fuck, Max’s _mouth_. Anne lifts her left leg, hooks it over Max’s shoulder. Max likes to tease, sometimes, placing light kisses all over Anne’s cunt, fluttering her tongue against Anne’s clit. But not today. Today she presses her tongue firmly against Anne’s clit, through the hood, and licks with insistent pressure. Anne lets her hands drift down and rest on Max’s head, stroking her soft curls. She’s quieter than Max when they fuck, but her breathing grows laboured, erratic, and her leg twitches with the effort of not trapping Max between her thighs and fucking her face until she comes.

Not that Max would mind, most likely. She’s made it obvious many times how much she likes that, even regularly asks for it – fuck, the memory of that makes it even harder not to just go for it. But the sun on her skin, the heavy heat in the room, the sluggish pleasure of having watched her washing up – all of it makes Anne want to make it last, to let Max take her time.

Max pulls her mouth away from Anne’s cunt, looks up at her. “Do you want my fingers?” she asks.

“Fuck, yeah,” Anne answers, tilting her hips up to give Max better access. Max lowers her head again and licks, slow and deliberate, all along Anne’s cunt. She pushes two fingers in Anne’s cunt from the get-go, the angle just right, and Anne grunts deep in her throat. 

Max moans against her cunt, and _fuck_ , that feels nice. Anne threads her fingers through Max’s hair, strokes her scalp. Max knows just how to fuck Anne, doesn’t thrust her fingers much, just curls them hard and rhythmically in Anne’s cunt, the pads of her fingers pressing into that spot that makes pleasure thud in Anne’s veins. She reaches blindly for Max’s hand on her hip and Max grasps Anne’s hand, interlocking their fingers. 

When Max pushes a third slender finger in Anne’s cunt and starts drawing circles around Anne’s clit with her tongue, Anne arches up, tugging at Max’s hand to ground herself and pulling on Max’s hair with her other hand. Max moans continuously into Anne’s cunt, the sound muffled but still clearly audible. 

“Max, fuck, _Max_ ,” Anne groans, and Max stops circling Anne’s clit. She presses her tongue flat against the hood, making regular, insistent movements with it and increasing the speed of her fingers in Anne’s cunt without relenting the pressure. Molten pleasure seems to make a path between the two points she’s pressing against, radiating through Anne’s entire lower stomach. The feeling builds inside her, like a wave, and when Anne comes, it doesn’t crash over her – instead, it’s the exhilarating moment when a ship balances, suspended on the crest of a wave, followed by the swooping sensation of plunging into the dip beyond it. Anne’s body goes rigid then boneless as she utters a deep, low sigh.

Max doesn’t let up, keeps fucking Anne through her orgasm and beyond it. Anne can feel how wet Max’s chin is, knows the hair above her own cunt is soaked as well. Max’s fingers and tongue and unrelenting, maintaining the same rhythm and pressure, and it’s not long before Anne comes again, this time with a stuttered gasp and her fingers clenching around Max’s hand.

Max lifts her head, rises on hands and knees and flashes Anne a cocky smile. It’s the same expression she wore when she fucked Anne for the first time, and no matter how many times Anne sees it, it always makes her chest and cunt clench with desire. 

Max crawls up the bed and collapses, half-sprawled over Anne, her wet face buried in the crook of Anne’s neck. Anne caresses her hair, her back, in gentle smoothing strokes.

“Fuck, Max,” she says, trying to make her tone express all the feelings she’s not eloquent enough to put into words.

Max laughs softly into Anne’s shoulder. “Yes, me too.” Her hips are twitching minutely against Anne’s leg, probably unconsciously. 

Anne props herself up on one elbow and gently brushes Max’s hair aside. She peppers kisses along the side of Max’s neck, her shoulder, the nape of her neck, not ready to stop touching Max yet. Her hand caresses down Max’s back, down to her arse. She strokes it, fondles it, her fingers straying between its cheeks. Max gives a small moan.

“Yeah?” Anne asks, voice husky.

Max hums affirmatively, pushing her arse back against Anne’s hand. Anne wants to make her shout, those unrestrained, abandoned noises that echo in Anne’s head when she’s alone in her cabin, hand rubbing desperately between her thighs, teeth clenched around her groans.

She throws a leg over Max’s arse, knees on either side of her hips, and leans forward to keep mouthing at Max’s shoulders, her neck, the top of her spine. She licks, nibbles, places sucking kisses all over Max’s upper back, the edges of her shoulderblades. Max moans, panting, and pushes back against Anne’s crotch. A bead of sweat glides down Anne’s back, brought on by pleasure as much as by the sun shining down onto her. Anne pushes a hand under Max’s chest, catches her nipple between two fingers and squeezes gently.

Max’s noises grow louder, so _fucking_ tantalising. They spur Anne on and she moves down, still kissing all along Max’s back. She settles between Max’s thighs and pushes them open, firm and decisive. Max spreads her legs a bit further than Anne opened them, so eager and sultry, _fucking hell_. Anne still can’t quite fathom wanting someone this much, and that person wanting her _back_. 

She bends her head and licks between Max’s cheeks, unhesitant, and Max inhales sharply then exhales slowly, luxuriously, spreading her legs even further. Anne can smell her, the scent of Max’s wet cunt like a heady rush. She places her hands on Max’s arse, opening her up, and kisses Max’s tailbone, then trails lower, revelling in how Max’s breath shortens as she gets closer to her arsehole. Finally, she licks into it, the tip of her tongue stroking firmly against the furled skin, and Max does shout at that.

Anne points her tongue, circles Max’s rim with tight movements. She loves how much Max loves this, how loud she gets, how she thrusts back on Anne’s tongue and then forward, into the mattress, trying to find some friction. Anne takes one hand off Max’s arse and brings it down between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over Max’s cunt, teasingly, and Max pushes back into it.

“You want it, luv?” Anne asks, applying just the tiniest bit of pressure. She has to pull away to talk to Max, and when she looks up, her heart skips a beat. The length of Max’s back, the curve of her waist, the swell of her arse, her dark hair curling lazily around her shoulderblades – Christ, how is she in this woman’s bed? 

“Yes,” Max answers, voice breathy and muffled by the pillow she’s burying her face into. “Just your thumb, but yes, fuck, please.”

Max cursing always does _things_ to Anne, so she complies without further ado. She pushes her thumb into Max’s cunt, up to the knuckle, and buries her face back into Max’s arse. She curls her thumb, pushing down into the walls of Max’s cunt, and that earns her a high-pitched, “Fuck, _Anne_!”, the A in her name even sharper than usual, Max’s accent getting more pronounced as her arousal rises. 

Anne presses the pad of two fingers against the underside of Max’s clit, rubs them upwards, catching Max’s clit between them. Max is crying out, utterly uninhibited, and Anne is so fucking wet, bloody fucking hell. She pushes her tongue deep inside Max’s arse, thrusting it in and out, feeling her grow looser around her tongue, slick with saliva. She presses her fingers and thumb towards each other, her thumb moving downwards, her fingers upwards, as if trying to make them touch through Max’s pubic bone. Max is thrusting her hips now, writhing so wildly that Anne has to bob her head up and down to follow her rhythm. Her tongue curls inside Max’s arse, fingers and thumb still working together, and Max comes, back arched, head thrown back, shouting and clenching around Anne’s thumb and tongue, a feeling that makes Anne groan, low and guttural in the back of her throat.

Max rides out her orgasm until her hips are only twitching, her cunt and arse fluttering with aftershocks. Anne pulls out, carefully, and Max turns over onto her back, pulls Anne up to kiss her, full-mouthed and passionate.

“Fuck, Anne,” she pants against Anne’s lips, “you’re so good to me, my love.”

Anne cups the sides of Max’s face, rests their foreheads together. 

“You too,” is all she knows how to say. “You too, luv.”

Max smiles at her. Anne smiles back. She knows how adoring she must look and it should make her feel vulnerable, but it doesn’t, somehow, not with Max, especially not when Max’s open expression mirrors her own feelings so perfectly. 

She leans back down to kiss Max again, slow and unhurried, and that’s when there’s a knock at the door. Anne curses. Must be Idelle. She always waits until the sounds in their room have quieted down before disturbing them, but she rarely gives them much time to cuddle in the mornings.

Sure enough, Idelle’s voice sounds through the door. “Max? Silver wants to see you.”

“Ugh,” Max grumbles, clearly as reluctant as Anne to leave the bed. She pulls Anne onto her so Anne’s full weight is pushing her into the bed. “Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes!” she shouts at Idelle.

Anne smirks down at her. “I’m not used to you skirting your responsibilities.”

“It’s just Silver,” Max says, pulling down Anne’s face into the crook of her neck, muffling her answering snort, and caressing her hair with slow, soft movements. “He will even wait ten minutes if needed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make me very happy <3


End file.
